


Remain In A World Apart

by the_ragnarok



Series: threesome!fic [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which dinner is made, feelings are discussed, and they even get some work done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remain In A World Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by treacle_tartlet, who is lovely and amazing.

After tea, with all that includes – Eames doesn't have time to bake his own scones these days, but there's a place down the corner that does them surprisingly well – they settle down to get some actual work done.

A lot of it's already taken care of, the loose ends Eames habitually ends up worrying at neatened with Arthur's precise handwriting. It warms the cockles of Eames' heart just to look at him scribble, frowning at a page and highlighting things for Eames to see.

Eames and Mal have always worked well together, throwing ideas at each other in volleys like a well-practiced juggling act. Arthur fits in like Eames couldn't have imagined, shooting their wild fancies out of the air, sorting through their bullshit as though it's invisible.

"Family or fucking," Arthur says, after Eames and Mal have spent ten minutes making increasingly vulgar incest puns at each other. "Make a goddamned decision before I shoot something."

For a moment, it seems as though Mal is going to... discipline Arthur, or some such thing. To Eames' quiet relief, Mal only says, "Family, then," and goes on to work through the possible options.

She has a hard time separating business and pleasure, Mal does, and while this tendency has brought some lovely things into Eames' life – such as their game, such as Arthur – it can be difficult to work with.

When dinner time rolls around, they've already decided on the forgery target and the basic scheme of the dream. Mal's husband will be designing the actual dream, but he can do that later, without their input. As much personal distaste as Eames has for Dom Cobb, he'll admit the man's good at what he does.

Arthur's at the whiteboard again, drawing blobs and arrows to demonstrate evasion tactics in case of an unexpected militarization, and Eames looks at him and wonders.

Later, Eames says, "You’ve worked with Mal's husband, yeah?" as Arthur dices an onion. Eames has drafted him to help make dinner while Mal sits in the living room with a glass of wine and a cigarette. Eames fully intends to make her wash dishes later, no matter how much she complains about her delicate hands.

"Sure." Arthur finishes with the onions and raises the entire cutting board to pour them into the frying pan. Eames jiggles it, pokes the onions around with a wooden spatula.

"How do you find him?" Eames says when more is not forthcoming.

Arthur shrugs. "Decent."

Eames doesn't ask about Mal's private arrangements that don't pertain to him, mostly would rather not know. But Eames is who he is, and he notices things. Doesn't have much choice about it. "Very straightforward man, Mr. Cobb," Eames muses, stirring the onions and pieces of sausage in the pan. "Very... conservative, in his ways."

Arthur snorts, and Eames keeps a smile back. "What do you want me to say?" Arthur's voice is not accusative, merely curious. "He knows about this, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't aware I asked anything," Eames says mildly. "Get those tomatoes for me, would you, darling?"

Arthur twitches but complies. "Is this a European thing, all the pet names?"

Eames takes a moment to admire Arthur's hands on the knife handle before answering. "I caught it from Mal, or she did from me. Buggered if I can remember anymore."

Arthur laughs at that, bright and honest, and Eames smiles and doesn't hold back from kissing his cheek. Arthur stills at this, so Eames pulls away. "No?" he asks, with some little regret.

Arthur looks ill at ease. "I'm weird about it," he says, after a moment's hesitation. "It's better if you don't." Eames trusts his expression is suitably mournful.

Then Arthur adds, "Unless you _want_ to make me uncomfortable," and the back of his neck turns a very faint pink.

"Right," Eames says. He rather thinks he'll keep his distance, then.

"Are you boys gossiping?" Mal says from the kitchen's doorway. "You naughty things, leaving me out."

"And who was the one who lounged about waiting for dinner while we toiled, hm?" Eames stirs once more and tips the pan into the cooking pot before lowering the fire and putting the lid back on. "How you manage to always come by just when the work's done I'll never know."

"Woman's intuition," Mal says archly.

"That and you can smell when everything's done," Arthur says, because apparently some people can't abide to leave mystery alone. Mal pouts at him.

After dinner, Eames tries to make Mal wash the dishes but Arthur ends up volunteering. Eames has no idea if it's part of their play, misguided gentlemanliness or just Arthur being Arthur, but he has enough to think about at the moment without getting into that. He goes to the living room to join Mal, instead.

She has a deck of cards out. "Game?"

Eames considers, licks his lips. "Strip poker?" It's a fun challenge, with Mal, seeing who can out-cheat the other.

She raises an eyebrow. "Got over your fatigue?"

Sadly, this doesn't bring even a stirring from Eames' pertinent regions. He shakes his head. "You and your little pet did me in, love. Ask me again tomorrow."

Mal's lips curve into a wicked smile. "We could have him join us," she says. "Between the two of us, we'll have him bare in no time. And then we can move on to making him perform tasks."

Now if _that_ doesn't get Eames hard nothing will. But there's only the faintest interest from his cock. Eames sighs. "Not today, I'm afraid."

"Men." Mal sounds thoroughly disgusted.

"I'm not averse at all to watching," Eames suggests, because Mal does love her audience. He doesn't mention that Arthur's just as likely as him to be, to put it gently, tired. Mal may well get off on that as well, on pushing Arthur past his boundaries.

"Oh, it's no fun when you're too limp to play."

Eames winces at this. "Tomorrow," he says, covering her hand with his.

She raises his face to meet his eyes, and in hers is a wild glint that promises all kinds of good things. "Today," she purrs, and pushes him back to the couch.

She straddles his lap, pushing her cleavage unsubtly into his face. Eames' hands rise to her breasts, unbidden. He kisses her collarbone, dipping down to kiss between her breasts, rubbing his cheek against them to see the pale flesh redden.

But he doesn't get hard, not even when she writhes and moans against him. Not even when she takes his hand and puts it on her arse, beneath her dress, to caress bare skin and tease at her pucker.

At last she lets go and collapses over the couch. "I hate you."

"Filthy lies and slander." His hand roams up her body, resting at her breast, pinching a nipple until she gasps. "You love me, Mallory, and you always have."

"I do not." She's struggling against herself, now, not to make sounds as Eames rolls her nipple between two fingers. He moves to lie on her, to bite her neck and put his hands in all sorts of interesting places. "I hate you," she whispers in his ear. "You are a spent old man and you can do nothing for me."

"Quite the opposite." He bites down on her breast, doesn't let go until she lets out another gasp. "I can do all manner of things that you like."

She pushes him away. Eames doesn't think she quite means it, but he sits up in any case. "You are atrociously rude. You make me feel old and ugly."

So that's what this is all about. "Is that it?" Eames says. "You think inspiring a grown man to come thrice in a day isn't enough of a testament to your loveliness?"

"If you truly thought I was lovely," Mal says, face turned away, "you wouldn't be tired of me."

Eames has the feeling they're not quite playing anymore. "Mal?" He takes her chin in his hand, turns her face gently to his. "Love, do we need to talk?"

The breath pours out of her and she collapses against him. "I am _hideous_ ," she says, and all right, this is just plain silly.

"Are you in your right mind?" Eames inquires. "Have all the mirrors mysteriously broken in your house?"

She scowls at him. "Don't mock a woman's anxiety, Eames."

"I wouldn't," he says, kissing her hand, "but quite frankly you're being ridiculous and you know it."

"Am I not allowed some ridiculousness?" She bites his shoulder, hard enough to make him wince.

But she lets go after a minute, climbs back to sit in his lap, laying her head against the same abused shoulder. Mal sighs. "I am wrinkles and stretch-marks all over, Eames. Why did I let Dom do this to me? I should have poisoned his dinner when he suggested it."

Eames strokes her hair and doesn't remind her that she's always wanted children, since the very first years of their acquaintance. Kisses her temple and whispers endearments in her ear. "You are ludicrously beautiful," he tells her.

"Oh, don't even," Mal grumbles, hiding her face in his shirt. "Why must I be this way, Eames? Is it truly too much to want to be told I'm beautiful every now and then?"

Eames' hand, rubbing down her back, stills. "Surely your husband tells you."

"Dom Cobb," Arthur says from the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel, "can say that Mal's beautiful the way fish can say water is wet. The universe wouldn't make sense to him otherwise. I don't think he can even understand that's a question."

Eames raises both eyebrows at him. "Oh? And what's your excuse, Arthur?"

"I do tell her." His voice is almost plaintive. "She won't believe me."

"He'll tell me anything I wanted to hear," Mal says. Her eyes are brightening now, though.

Eames pulls her hair lightly. "And why exactly do you think _that_ is, you silly goose?"

"He admires me for my professional abilities," Mal says archly.

Arthur ducks his head a bit, and Eames can't help but be charmed. "Those too, I'm sure," he murmurs into Mal's ear. She giggles and slaps his chest, not hard enough to hurt. He raises his voice and looks at Arthur. "Join us, won't you?"

Arthur's footsteps are quiet as he comes to the couch. He won't unbend enough to join them, though, sitting at a small distance and looking at them. Eames can't make anything out in his expression.

"So I was looking at the mark's pictures again," Arthur says, and they go back into work mode.

This goes on – with some asides as Mal gets progressively drunker and more prone to groping – until it's gone midnight. Eames likes to sleep well when he's working. He gets up and stretches. "All right," he says, "to bed with us."

Mal takes the guest room, as Eames expected. Mal likes her space, and Eames can't fault her considering that most days she has a husband and a small child clinging to her.

He thought Arthur might actually take the couch, but when Eames comes to his bedroom after making Mal's bed, he finds Arthur there, kneeling on top of the covers, leashed to the headboard.

Eames sits on the side of the bed. "Really, now." He traces a finger down Arthur's cheek. "Whose idea was this?" Arthur doesn't answer, so Eames supposes it was Mal's. "You don't have to," Eames says. "The couch is quite comfy."

Arthur shrugs, barely. His leash is a simple thing, easy enough to disconnect. There's nothing to keep Arthur here if he doesn't want to be, except for Mal's orders.

Eames doesn't know if he's annoyed or touched by Mal's consideration. She knows he doesn't like to sleep alone, that more than once he'd done things he didn't much fancy to have a warm body to hold on to. Eames knows what it's like, to do things for love that break your heart.

He tugs Arthur's leash, pulling him down onto the bed. Pushes him until he lies on his stomach. For once Arthur's pliant, yielding to Eames' touch. Perhaps that's meant to signify something. Eames doesn't have a bloody clue.

He settles himself on top of Arthur, mindful of the leash. "Can you breathe?"

Arthur nods and closes his eyes. Eames reaches for the light, then curls up over and around Arthur in the darkness.


End file.
